


A Beautiful Lie

by Shaeydyrllah



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amnesia, Arson, Burning flesh, Emotional Manipulation, Episode 161, Illusions, Jonah is besotted with Jon, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsession, Reality is wrong, Unrequited, creepy Elias, one-sided Jonah/Jon, reality distortion, the birthday tape gone wrong, this is extremely unhealthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaeydyrllah/pseuds/Shaeydyrllah
Summary: When is a party not a party?When it's the construct of an unhinged and adoring Beholding Avatar.Jon is not impressed by Jonah's gift.'Tim shuddered in his half stooped over position, leaning over the burning table before resuming. "And a couple more times- here," Tim steadied one hand on the table, his hand passed through the flame as if it were merely thin air. Jon wished he could believe he was hallucinating but the putrid stench of burning flesh was a painful miasma assaulting his senses."I’m so clumsy today; that is a lot of fire." Tim's voice adopted a more menacing tone. He tore his hand away from the flames and started to laugh again, unconcerned with his ruined hand.“I'm really not comfortable-" Jon berated himself for not just yelling at them for propagating the lunacy before him."So blow it out, then." Sasha rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. The fire had spread to her chair and was beginning to creep up the leg of her jeans yet she remained unmoved by it all.'
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Jonah Magnus/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	A Beautiful Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Sees some happy TMA content and immediately creates this monstrosity.

Jon couldn’t recall how he ended up in the hallway leading to his office. Seriously sleep deprived and in need of something stronger than tea, he stumbled through the door marked ‘Archivist’. Personally, he thought it was an impersonal choice but at least he wouldn’t need to attempt to peel his predecessor's name off of the door with his ruined nails, chewed beyond repair.

There was a loud clicking noise in the dark, his hand scrambled for the light switch. His head snapped to the right at the faint sounds in his shadow covered office. The clicking noise was familiar in a way it shouldn’t be, it sent ragged talons scraping across his soul, the frayed edges of his essence sang out in the blissful agony of a half-forgotten lullaby.

** “ ** Careful!” Urged a hushed voice. A hesitant smile crept across his face. He would know Martin’s voice anywhere, if not by the tone then the immediate sense of safety and calm unwarranted by the situation at hand. The upward twitch of his lips rapidly changed as a frown marred his face; when had he ever associated his incompetent assistant with security? The safest thing about Martin was that Jon could count on him to assuage stressful social encounters with his inane background chatter, something that obviously irritated to Jon himself.

“Sh-hh!” Came another voice, obnoxiously loud in light of the warning it gave. Jon fumbled for the switch in the dark. He was momentarily confused by the lack of the raised switch on the wall as his fingers blindly swiped at what he knew to be mould speckled tangerine wallpaper. His fingers caught on the peeling paper but found no switch.

The overhead light sputtered to life, cascading dim flickering visibility across the dingy room. The quiet buzz of the bulb that had been on its death bed for years, in and out of comas, held and was immediately overpowered by the cacophonous call of his assailants.

“Surprise!” Gleeful faces beamed at him. Martin stood awkwardly in the corner, his soft smile made Jon’s stomach flutter in a way that compelled him to seek out some indigestion tablets as soon as possible. Tim appeared to be entirely too smug, he leaned against Jon’s desk with his arms crossed over a shirt that was most certainly against dress code, if not from the phrase it sported then the pattern itself should be declared a crime against mankind.

A painfully loud honking sound rang in his ears as Sasha blew a party horn in his face, the silver foil inflated and bumped his nose as it let out that dreaded noise. Jon recoiled violently and bumped back into the door he had just come through. “Jesus.” Jon yelped, his ears still rung as he turned hurt eyes towards Sasha. She was well aware of his dislike for loud noises and his even greater distaste for the sudden invasion of his space without warning. Sasha seemed unaware of his distress as she grinned at his bewildered expression. She turned to wink at Tim and flicked a long strand of purple hair behind her ear in frustration as it fell over her eyes.

“Happy birthday, boss.” The teasing lilt of the last word betrayed Tim’s casual dismissal of Jon’s new position; he managed to nod back to Tim, still recovering from the ringing in his ears and the urge to puncture his eardrums. He was relieved to see that Tim didn’t appear to feel awkward over working under his friend.

“Happy-“ Sasha was about to repeat Tim’s pleased exclamation before cutting herself off as she took in Jon swaying slightly, “Are you okay?” Jon’s gaze rested upon her for a moment. Everything about the warmth and concern dripping from her voice sounded right, what was unsettling was the cold curiosity in her eyes, completely devoid of empathy. 

Jon shuddered and made his way over to his chair with the flattened rose petal cushion that seemed 50 years too old. He felt a lot calmer while seated at his desk, this seat in this very office belonged to him, it was something he earned. As dismal as Gertrude’s decorating skills were he found it difficult to care when pride glowed softly in his chest.

“Just give me a second.” He murmured while taking a deep breath. 

The bulb flickered once again, distorting everything in the room, Sasha’s hair briefly appeared blue and Martin’s glasses seemed absent for the short moment when the room darkened. The Archival Assistants conceded to his wishes for momentary quiet. Jon wanted to revel in the temporary silence as if it were a rare jewel to be treasured. His life was often quiet and dull, consisting of filing papers and items of dubious origin he refused to label as ‘magical,’ he wasn’t a twelve year old. His head felt unnaturally silent, mentally probing at the emptiness cautiously only lead to sinking into a deeper chasm of oblivion. It felt like there should be something there but he couldn’t quite recall what. 

** “ ** Sorry, sorry!” Of course, it would be Martin that broke the silence. He fidgeted with the edge of his maroon jumper, suddenly nervous under Jon’s gaze that still felt too gentle and incongruously fond. “Tim wanted to surprise you, and-“

Tim strode over and ruffled Martin’s hair causing his wire-framed glasses to become lopsided. “Snitch.” His cheerful grin made it impossible to construe his accusation as anger-filled despite the mock scowl he shot at the man who towered over him yet bent his head to allow Tim to reach his hair.

“No, no, it’s _fine_ , thank you.” Jon paused, “You just surprised me.”

He reached out for the nearest statement on his desk, some nonsense about dreamwalking given by a young woman; the only unnatural thing about it was how she was still alive after indulging in an enormous quantity of back medication. He ran his fingers over the smooth sheet of paper; he traced the inked date at the top of the page with the pad of his index finger. It felt like potential. _It felt like power._ Jon rapidly shook the bizarre thought from his mind. Words were words; ludicrous as they were they bore no significant meaning to him.

Tim scoffed, not unkindly, “Well, that was the idea.”

“Right.” He kept his eyes down, letting the letters swim nonsensically across his field of vision. “Though, uh, honestly, the bottle of wine was just fine.”

His head snapped up in alarm as Tim perched on the edge of his desk and smirked at him. “Pfft, yeah, as a _decoy_.

_ Decoy..decoy..decoy...decoy... _

The word echoed in his head, some part of him buried underneath the confusion and overwhelming attention of his co-workers, reached out and latched onto the word. He unconsciously mouthed the word along with the dull thrum in his mind.

“What are you really planning?” His heart thundered in his chest. Paranoia set his nerves afire and his mind ablaze, and yet the burn was an old and comforting friend that had lodged its way into his chest so long ago.

Sasha laughed, too long and more cheerful than was warranted by Jon’s blunt but fearful inquiry. “It’s just a bit of fun Jon, no need to tear your eyes out.”

Jon was dumbfounded by the oddness of Sasha’s friendly retort. “I thought the phrase was 'tear your hair out'?”

Sasha paused, her head tilted to the side as she stared at him in what would have been interpreted as a thoughtful manner if not for the blank expression on her face as if she had temporarily shut down. All at once, she became animated again; she clapped her hands together and beamed at him. “Of course, of course. It’s been a long day. We wouldn’t want you to rip out your pretty hair or eyes.” Her limbs jittered oddly, unsteadily before righting herself. “Your eyes are so lovely Jon.”

“Thank you?” It came out as more of a question than a graceful acceptance of a compliment. Then again, compliments weren’t usually delivered with intense stares. His eyes landed on Martin, who awkwardly averted his gaze, nevertheless, he felt a bit more at ease having him in sight for some reason. “I notice you didn’t jump out at _Martin_ when he had a birthday.” He swiftly changed the subject.

“No, he’s _way_ too jumpy as it is.” Tim agreed happily.

A choked splutter was heard from Martin’s corner of the room as he shot Tim a betrayed look. Jon felt himself relax at how perfectly predictable Martin’s response was. At least one thing was normal.

** “ ** We were worried he might _damage_ himself!” Tim continued, chuckling at Martin’s outrage.

“Hey!”

Jon shook his head, “Leave Martin alone Tim.” His voice lacked any real bite. It only occurred to him as soon as the words left his mouth how out of character it was to defend Martin of all people. Martin’s grateful little grin made Jon oddly glad that he had taken his side in their playful bickering.

Martin folded his arms and turned his back on Tim, flicking his hair back. It was unfortunately too short to have much of a dramatic impact. “Well- I preferred going out for ice cream anyway.”

“You went for ice cream?” Jon asked incredulously. Even if he didn’t always get along amiably with Martin he couldn’t fathom Martin being spiteful enough to offer an invitation for ice cream to everyone but himself.

“ _Yes_ , you were there!” Sasha idly plaited a lock of her forest green hair. Jon winced as she pushed the untidy pile of paperwork off of the spare chair to commandeer it. The papers spilt across the floor, it didn’t help that when Tim swung his legs from his position on the desk, the heel of his boots caught on the top sheet and left muddy smears.

Jon truly couldn’t bring to mind any occasion where he ventured into an ice cream parlour. He often liked curling up on Georgie’s couch with a pint of Rum and Raisin, the Admiral made for warm and enthusiastic company. At Jon’s puzzled expression Martin walked over to him and made eye contact, which was fairly unusual for Martin at the best of times. Jon was startled to be confronted with the view of tiny golden speckles in a pair of soft hazel eyes. The oddly euphoric bubbling in his chest he tried to tamper down on was quelled quickly when he noticed the strange momentary emptiness in Martin’s expression.

Martin’s eyes lit up once more, his large freckled hand squeezed Jon’s in a comforting manner, Jon was surprised that he didn’t feel the urge to pull away from Martin’s grasp. “You had- Rum and Raisin, and taught us all about emulsifiers.”

Jon blinked at this, distracted by the unfamiliarly familiar texture of Martin’s hand. “Oh. Right, yes, I-I remember.” Rum and Raisin was his favourite, even if he couldn’t remember socialising with the Archival staff at an ice cream parlour it certainly seemed like he had, given Martin’s precise response.

“Liar.” There was an odd glint in Tim’s eyes as he saw through Jon’s fumbled reply.

Jon swallowed nervously, he could feel his pulse hammering in his temples, now that he’d noticed the sensation it was difficult to ignore. “Well t-thank you.” He managed to say, his throat unreasonably dry. “This is all- very touching.” There was nothing innately threatening about this social encounter, nevertheless, he had the overwhelming urge to flee. 

“We just wanted to do something to lighten the mood, you know?” At Tim’s words, the overhead light flickered once more. Martin’s previously comforting presence didn’t feel so comforting anymore as he withdrew his hand over noticing Jon’s muscles tense.

“Yes, I’m- “He inhaled deeply, “aware it’s been a- rough start.” Jon’s eyes darted towards the shut door, feeling more and more trapped in the shabby little office he had felt so proud of, so safe in. He breathed out again loudly, feeling self-conscious.

“Oh Jon, we just wanted you to know how much we appreciate all of your hard work.” Sasha attempted to remedy his growing anxiety; her eyebrows drew up into a concerned frown as Jon rose from his seat, fixated firmly on the door.

Jon paused in his endeavour to escape the unnerving behaviour of his colleagues. “All of my hard work...I’ve just started as Archivist...” He trailed off. “I’ve barely done anything.” Jon sometimes had difficulty picking up on social cues, however, for this occasion, he was certain he hadn’t said anything amusing enough to cause Tim to stiffen briefly then descend into a fit of laughter.

“Oh no, you’re excellent at your job.” He reassured Jon, forcing the words out in between hiccups and full-body tremours.

Jon decided to chalk Tim’s reaction up to sarcasm.

Turning back to the door, he was startled by the abrupt knock against the door.

“Knock knock.”Such an utterance was superfluous, given that the speaker had already knocked on the door. Jon shivered and stepped away from the door as it revealed Elias. Elias’s eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the room, the luminance of the lamp over the bookshelf made it appear as though his green eyes were glowing in the dim room.

Elias took two steps forward, which was mirrored in reverse by Jon; Elias’s presence did nothing to quell his panic. It didn’t seem a rational reaction given that Elias had always been extremely courteous towards Jon.

“Double boss!” Tim chimed at the sight of their superior. No one else appeared to be unsettled by the sudden appearance of Elias.

“Elias?” Asked Sasha, no doubt curious about why he had ventured so deep into the Archives. Hearing his boss’s name out loud felt wrong. _Elias...Elias..._ It didn’t seem to fit the man in front of him, Jon quickly dismissed the direction of his thoughts, plenty of people had names that didn’t suit them.

“I’m not too late for cake, am I?” His mellifluous voice sent a wave of serenity crashing over Jon, who instantly scoffed at himself for even thinking of another person’s voice as ‘mellifluous’. Jon struggled against the alien sense of peace descending upon him, frankly disturbed by his fluctuating emotions.

“There’s a cake?” Jon shakily latched onto Elias’s words, silently freaking out over the way Elias’s presence relaxed his muscles and racing pulse against his will. The fact that the emotional assault was so gentle, so horridly kind, had made it all the more difficult to struggle against.

_These were not his emotions._

“How did y-” Tim started, then spun around to the taller Archival Assistant, “ _Martin!_ That was a secret!” He waved a single manicured finger in chastisement. The dichotomy of Tim scowling whilst grinning and the exaggerated sing-song in which he addressed Martin was faintly reminiscent of a scene from a pantomime.

“I-I didn’t say anything!” Martin squeaked in an undignified manner.

Elias stepped further into the room with languid grace, “He didn’t have to. Nothing escapes my notice, and I like to keep an eye out for this sort of thing.” The slightly upturned corner of his mouth and the way his eyes glittered when he looked over at Jon made him feel like he was on the reciprocal end of an inside joke that he was too embarrassed to say he’d forgotten about.

He nodded grimly, unnerved by the way the other Archival staff started to laugh once more. Normally Jon would have ridiculed Martin for the adorable little snorting sound he usually makes when laughing but bizarrely enough everyone’s laughter sounded false, as though a single laughter recording was manipulated to produce three laughs for the same duration with the only difference being pitch.

“Well- it’s- good to see you.” Added Tim.

Jon didn’t quite know what to say to Elias, he both wanted to soak in the painful tranquillity of his presence and run for the hills.

“So, how old is the birthday boy?” Elias asked, the unpleasant curl of his lips felt mocking.

The disconcerting buzz of static in his ears made it hard to concentrate. _How old was he?_ For a long moment, it was difficult to recall. “Thirty-eight.” He claimed with as much confidence as he could muster, that wasn’t his actual age but it was the one written on his application.

Sasha leaned over her side of the desk to flick him teasingly, “Liar.” Jon was beginning to detest being called out so often. The other’s laughed in their perturbing harmony. 

“How could you possibly know?” He tried to sound petulant to mask his unease over being seen through so easily.

“What, does someone need to change their password again?” Tim teased, his voice adopted the prosody one might use when talking to a small child.

“I-what?” He flinched as Tim patted his shoulder, “Sasha, have you been going through my computer-” He accused.

“ _Definitely_ not; No idea what he’s talking about.” She shared a conspiratorial look with Tim.

“Course not!” Tim defended readily.

“We would never do such a thing.” Martin agreed.

“That’s _really_ not appropriate,” Jon responded. He was unsure what else he could say about the violation of his privacy, as light-hearted as their teasing was the coordination between them felt unnaturally rehearsed.

“ _Anyways_.” Elias cut in, “Somebody mentioned cake.” The other inhabitants in the room froze for a drawn-out few seconds, their eyes glazed over as Elias reminded them of what they had been doing. As unnerving as it was to see the coordinated empty joy of the Assistants, it was stranger still that Elias and himself were the only ones who were acting normally. Jon’s musing over the abnormal behaviour he witnessed was smoothed away by the keen sensation of bliss suffusing his senses as Elias smiled at him knowingly.

“Ah, yes you did,” Tim replied, looking at Jon even though Elias had asked the question.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Elias sounded smug.

“Alright, alright.” Tim 

hopped down from the desk. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, anyway, look- just give me a second.” He reached into an unused drawer of the desk and pulled out several plates and a Victoria Sponge cake. Jon was baffled that such a large cake could even fit within the desk, to begin with.

Tim swung the cake around precariously before planting it in the centre of the desk.” _Happy birthday_ -” He began, and the other’s joined in sounding surprisingly tuneful.

_ “Happy birthday dear Jo-on.” _ The Assistants drew out his name.

_ “Dear Archivist.”  _ Elias sang along with them. Jon’s attention snapped to Elias feeling disgruntled. _That’s wasn’t his name._

_ “Happy Birthday to you.”  _ They cheered and applauded merrily.

Jon grew pallid as he noticed Martin fumbling in his jacket pocket before handing Tim a box of matches. He swallowed noisily and eyed Tim warily as he approached the desk with the matchbox. “Ah, t-thank you for all of this.” He gestured at the cake, “But I do hope you’re not planning to _light_ those candles.”

“Oh, goodness,” Tim exclaimed mockingly while shaking the box of matches. “A source of ignition? In the Archives?”

Jon tried to move his chair as far from his desk as possible. The grating screech of the chair leg on the uncarpeted floor was almost as unsettlingly to Jon’s ears as Sasha’s shrill laughter.

"Uh-oh." Sasha caught Jon's eye and winked. He didn't understand the sense of foreboding rising inside of him.

"Tim." He tried to insist. His eyes followed the innocuous match pinched between the man's thumb and forefinger as he waved it around carelessly, he struck it against the box and a small flame flickered in and out of existence.

"Yes, Jon?" His smile was overly wide, people weren't supposed to smile with so many teeth and lips curled too far back.

There was something too idyllic, storybook-esque about the whole scene, from the surprise party and amiable anecdotes to the presentation of a cake. Jon fought against the waves of calm, gently circling him like a predator stalks its prey. While he wanted to accept what he saw before him as a perfectly innocent gathering of friends, his mind vehemently rejected it.

Tim's hand slowly moved to the leftmost candle on the Victoria Sponge. At the last moment when the flame was about to make contact with the wick, Tim's hand jerked to the side in an odd spasm, setting fire to a couple of transcripts that Jon hadn’t got around to reading yet. Tim frowned down at his hand in surprise.

Searing pain ripped through Jon’s head as the edges of the papers blackened and curled. He frantically turned towards Elias. His boss was regarding him oddly with a furrowed brow; his eyes then darted to the burning statement then back to Jon and gave a thoughtful hum.

"Oh. Whoops! Sorry. My hand slipped." Tim grinned cheerfully as Jon recoiled and rose his feet. He turned to Sasha, who remained seated, gazing into the small fire unfazed.

"And again-" Tim chimed, shoving Jon out of his fixation on Sasha's face, he didn't know why it was so important to memorise every detail. Tim once again struck a match. Just like before, as soon as the match was in the vicinity of the cake his hand spasmed and set fire to the potted bluebells that Martin thought would brighten up the basement. The azure petals curled up and charred instantaneously, still unreasonably beautiful in their wasteful life appropriating blaze.

"And again-" Tim's merry tone didn't waver as the next time he forcefully struck a match the fire found itself far away from the cake set in the middle of the inferno of Jon's desk. He wasn't even trying to light the candles anymore. He repeated the action and the phrase over and over again as though caught in a loop.

Jon's eyes met Martin, he grinned bashfully and turned his head downwards under the force of Jon's incredulous and silent plea for help, misinterpreted it in some twisted way as a smile of affection. He found it impossible to believe that no one was concerned about the spreading fire, which had now reached the papers on the floor and was heading for the bookshelf; the desk itself was ablaze aside from the small circle of untouched cake in the middle. Jon began to back away from the desk.

“Tim.” Elias prompted.

Tim shuddered in his half stooped over position, leaning over the burning table before resuming. "And a couple more times- here," Tim steadied one hand on the table, his hand passed through the flame as if it were merely thin air. Jon wished he could believe he was hallucinating but the putrid stench of burning flesh was a painful miasma assaulting his senses.

"I’m so clumsy today; that is a lot of fire." Tim's voice adopted a more menacing tone. He tore his hand away from the flames and started to laugh again, unconcerned with his ruined hand.

“I'm really not comfortable-" Jon berated himself for not just yelling at them for propagating the lunacy before him.

"So blow it out, then." Sasha rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. The fire had spread to her chair and was beginning to creep up the leg of her jeans yet she remained unmoved by it all.

“How can I-that doesn’t...” He cut himself off. He gazed once again at Elias, the only one who seemed to have a modicum of sense about him.

Elias’s eyes traced the growing inferno; he pursed his lips as if the whole catastrophe was a mild inconvenience. “I was trying to do something nice.” He sounded puzzled. Elias reached out in a swift movement to pull Jon away from a toppling pile of burning books.

The gratitude Jon felt for Elias helping him was short-lived. Jon coughed loudly as the smoke settled in his lungs, heavy and choking. Elias was the only one unmarred by the flames in any way, his waistcoat and crisp white shirt were immaculate despite the ash and carnage.

His friends, on the other hand, remained immobile in variance stages of horrific desolation. Sasha and Tim were now fully engulfed by flame whereas Martin’s half-melted smile was still visible through the smoke rising from his sizzling flesh.

“We need to help them.” Jon entreated, though knowing there was nothing he could feasibly do.

Elias still hadn’t let go of his arm, his grip tightened as Jon tried to pull away from his grasp. “There was no need for these...theatrics...” He gestured at the remains of Jon’s friends who hadn’t uttered a word of their obvious agony.

“You should have just believed instead of doubting everything, it makes it so much harder to remain in control.” His eyes flickered to Jon’s futile attempt to pull away; whilst maintaining his hold on Jon, his thumb rubbed delicate circles against the frenzied pulse on Jon’s wrist.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jon grew desperate, “Let go of me, Elias.”

“I suppose your constant scepticism and drive for truth is charming.” Elias ignored Jon’s protests. “Why don’t you make a wish Jon, you might as well, this birthday facade won’t hold together much longer.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Jon spat, finally succeeding in pulling away from Elias’s overly familiar hold. Elias’s lips turned down at Jon’s departure from his proximity.

Jon felt like he was going insane. Whilst the other Archival Assistants’ behaviour had been abnormal and frightening, he hadn’t wanted them to burn away so horribly. He punctured a hole in the empty void in his mind as if it were a thick layer of plaster slathered clumsily in place. He couldn’t see anything distinct but he was left with the certainty that nothing he was seeing was real.

Elias smiled at Jon softly, torn between annoyance and affection.

"-lias." He managed to whisper, spluttering harshly against the acrid burn in his lungs.

Elias shook his head in mock disappointment. "Come now Jon, it's your birthday. You can call me by my _first_ name."

Jon stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. He wanted to understand, to know why nothing was making sense. Sasha who knew he detested loud noises would never bring a party horn so close to him, nor would she touch him either when he was so clearly distressed. Tim wasn't this joyful, he didn't laugh like that, not anymore. And Martin, Martin understood what Jon needed like he knew how to breathe, it was reflexive, it sometimes seemed that Martin understood Jon's feelings better than Jon himself.

"Jonah." He managed to spit at the amused figure.

Jonah Magnus shook with laughter. “I am so unbelievably proud of you Jon. You continue to surpass my expectations.”

Jon buried his face in his hands in distress he was unable to ignore how his previously unblemished skin returned to its mottled, worm ravaged-state. “What is this place?”

“We’re nowhere.” He lowered his head in false contrition, “It was more difficult than I anticipated, maintaining control over the constructs of your friends. Their personalities are a bit too resistant.” He chuckled, “That’s likely the reason they didn’t last so long.”

“End this Jonah.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is that what you wish for? One should be careful when demanding something so ambiguously interpretable.” Jon felt only disgust towards the sickening calmness radiating off of Jonah, now in possession of his memories, it was a lot easier to distinguish the origin of his feelings of discomfort.

His Archival crew were now dull shadows caught in between the dancing fiery claws that gripped the office; it was cruel of Jonah to dangle their memory in front of him to callously.

“Help them.” He beseeched, screwing his eyes up tight underneath sweat slickened hair plastered to his forehead. He wanted to hide from the horrific sight of his blackening office and the overcooked flesh of his friends.

Even though he could no longer see Jonah, somehow he could feel the Heart of the Institute smile.

“They’re not even real are they? Just fragments of my memories.” He finally looked up at Jonah, filled with disgust.

“Do not look upon me so coldly Jon; I have every intention of making reparations.” Jonah soothed, the peace he exuded was suffocating and Jon refused to accept how this man was making him feel. “You have no idea how dazzling you are to Behold, the fruits of my labour are reflected in every one of your perceived imperfections.”

Jonah’s breath came out shakily as he stared at Jon with a frightening intensity. “To me, you are absolutely perfect, you wound me with your harsh words.”

“Let me go back. Let me fix things.” Jon insisted, agitatedly. He didn’t wish to dwell on Jonah’s honey-sweet lies.

“There is nothing to fix.” Jonah cupped Jon’s face in his palms and Jon lacked the strength to pull away under the onslaught of conflicting feelings radiating from the man before him; he planted seeds deep within in Jon's mind that would grow into weeds, strangling the life out of him.

“Does it matter if they were real or not, so long as it makes you happy?” He whispered into Jon’s ear, gently carding his lank hair between icy fingers. “I’ll get better at it with practice; I’ll design the most exquisite visions to indulge in. Wouldn’t you like that my lovely Jon?”

“Please don’t.” Jon’s skin crawled with every caring caress. He willed his heavy limbs to fight back against Jonah but they refused to comply. He was forced to endure Jonah’s twisted perception of adoration.

Jonah pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’ll be alright Jon. You’ll see.” He dragged the pads of his fingertips over Jon’s eyelids tenderly. 

The seams of a splintering and fractured reality tore away at the edges as if they were made of little more than tissue paper. Scraps of half-forgotten dreams and long-repressed thoughts were dragged to the surface and knitted together once more to form a beautiful lie.

“The worlds I’ll create for you.” A gentle murmur on the breeze wormed its way into Jon’s mind which had been scrubbed clean of its paranoia and vitriolic hate towards the man who had taken everything from him. “Just wait and see, my Archive.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, the whole fire scene did sound menacing, to begin with.


End file.
